Ring Reflections
by Valot
Summary: Ring Fanfiction - Rachel must once again deal with the threat of Samara... but this time something far more deceptive and ominous brings her face to face with her greatest fear.
1.

Dr. Culver fiddled with the pen in his hand while debating over which direction was best to steer his patient. It was a delicate matter, very delicate indeed. One wrong turn and he knew his patient would lock up, sealing the doors of any and all conversation. That was something he definitely didn't want, not only for his patient's well being but for his own as well. There had been a lot of pressure of late for him to make headway with this particular patient. Many questions remained unanswered and time was running out. Soon both of them would be facing judge and jury and they wanted the answers that so far eluded him. Yes, it was a very delicate matter indeed.  
  
"How about we start off today by you telling me about your job as a reporter?" he began, tentatively.  
  
Rachel looked at him with an annoyed expression on her face. "Why don't we cut through the bullshit, doctor? I am tired and not in the mood for bullshit today. You couldn't care less about my job. Let's just get on with it."  
  
"Have you not been sleeping well, Rachel?" he said, taking the opening he saw.  
  
"No, I haven't been sleeping well. Would you?"  
  
"Are you still having nightmares?" he proceeded, ignoring her question.   
  
"Yes, only..." She fell silent.  
  
"Only what, Rachel?"  
  
"Only..." A shiver ran down her spine and her gut felt hollow. "Only they haven't all been while I was sleeping."  
  
Dr. Culver looked at her but remained silent, an old psychiatrist's trick for getting patients to continue on their own.  
  
"Well," Rachel continued. "It's just... It doesn't matter where I am or what I am doing anymore. They just come, these... these visions. Yes, that's what they are: visions. And whether I am asleep or awake they take over. They seem so real, so... real."  
  
"And what are these visions of?" Dr. Culver asked, even though "visions" was not what he had discreetly written on his notes while Rachel was talking. He preferred the term "hallucinations."  
  
"Different things: some good, some bad... very bad." The hollow in her gut spread throughout her body.   
  
"Tell me about the good ones, Rachel," Dr. Culver said, steering her in the direction that he felt - for the moment anyway - was best. He didn't much like the angry, fearful expression that had come over her face.  
  
"I'm dancing, dancing in a field of golden light." A smile came to her face. Rarely did she smile these days. "I am happy. Everything is so beautiful, so pure. And... and my son is there. Aidan, my sweet, little boy. My sweet..." She burst into tears.  
  
Dr. Culver handed her his handkerchief.  
  
"Thanks," she said, taking it, and then regained her composure almost as quickly as she lost it.  
  
"Would you like to talk about your son, Rachel? Would you like to talk about Aidan?"  
  
"NO!" she hollered, slamming her fist on the table between them.  
  
A less experienced psychiatrist would have recoiled from the outburst but Dr. Culver sat there calm and collected. It was a crucial moment in their session. He knew that it was all up to him now. It would take tact and poise yet resolve for him to be able to proceed onward without losing this session entirely.  
  
"Tell me then about the rest of your dream," he said.  
  
Rachel wasn't biting.  
  
"You were dancing..." he paused, hoping she would take over. "In a field of golden light...."  
  
Nothing.  
  
"Your son was there..." This, of course, was a dangerous move for Dr. Culver to make, but he had used dangerous moves as well as unconventional methods with Rachel before. Things he would never have done with other patients. Nothing extreme, though, just little psychiatric no-nos like affirming that a patient is having visions by he, himself, calling them visions. Normally he would not have done something like that, but Rachel was special and unconventional in Dr. Culver's eyes therefore warranted these measures.  
  
"Yes, my son was there," Rachel finally said.  
  
Whew, Dr. Culver thought, that was close. He thought for sure he had lost her. Now he slightly nodded, figuring a look and silence wasn't enough at this juncture, for her to continue.  
  
"We dance and we play. There's a beach nearby and we run to it and then play in the water." Her eyes began to mist over. "We are having such a good time. He's smiling and laughing. Something he never did all that much."  
  
Rachel then fell into silent reflection. She remembered how it used to be and it brought sadness to her heart. Closeness was something that Aidan and she never really had. She denied it for so many years but now she could no longer hide from the truth. If only she could turn back time. Would she do things differently? She would like to think so.  
  
"Rachel?" Dr. Culver said, breaking her out of her trance. "You were telling me about your dream." He wanted to say "son" but knew better.  
  
"Huh? Oh... right. Well, that's pretty much it, really."  
  
"The two of you on the beach playing and having a good time and then you just... what, wake up?" Dr. Culver pressed, fishing for more. He knew there was.   
  
A ringing came to Rachel's ears. A ringing that slowly became a screech. She didn't want to think about the rest of the dream - vision - whatever the hell it was. She didn't want to think about her. About how she would come and take Aidan. Rachel hated her.  
  
"Rachel?" Dr. Culver prompted again.  
  
"No! I mean, yes! That's it! That's the end of the dream. There is no more. I don't want to talk about it anymore." The screeching suddenly fell silent.  
  
"How about your other dreams?"  
  
"No, I don't want to talk about those either," she insisted. All of her dreams had a common thread: they involved her. Rachel didn't want to talk, or even think, about her. That is what Dr. Culver wanted to talk about though. Rachel knew this and she hated him for it. Look at him, she thought, sitting so smugly over there. He has no idea of what he is really dealing with. He makes me sick with all his questions and beating around the bush. I can see him contemplating his next move right now. Trying desperately to figure out the best approach, the quickest way to get me to talk about her.  
  
And, in fact, that is exactly what Dr. Culver was doing. The son was out, the dreams were out, and he dare not mention the little girl just yet, even though that was what he was most interested in - the meat of the matter, he had deduced from previous sessions. All the answers that he sought lay with the little girl, or, as he saw it, the fabrication of the little girl. The only problem in getting to the meat of the matter was the patient. It was like working a puzzle in his mind's eye. He just had to figure out what piece fit where. What subject of conversation would subtly lead him to the piece that he needed most?  
  
"What about the video tape?" he asked.  
  
"What about it?"   
  
"Tell me about it again, if you please."  
  
Predictable, Rachel thought. Every time he gets stuck he goes back to the tape. "I've already told you everything about it." She decided that she was in the mood for bullshit today after all but she would do all the shoveling.  
  
"Please, Rachel, indulge me."  
  
"You watch it, you die," she said, matter-of-factly.  
  
"But you watched it and you didn't die."  
  
Going for the throat early today aren't we, doctor, she thought. "No, I didn't die."  
  
"Do you know why?"  
  
"You know I don't!" She glared at him.  
  
"But you thought you knew at one time, didn't you?"  
  
"Yes, I did," she said, much calmer now. "I thought I was spared because I made a copy of the tape."  
  
Even though it wasn't the meat of the matter, Dr. Culver found this particular bit of fabrication most interesting. It was one thing, he felt, to invent a separate personality and a supernatural way for that personality to interact with those around it - which, in this case, always resulted in death - but it was quite another thing to also invent an escape hatch - a rather uncanny one at that - so that those who had met the personality could avoid their untimely demise. Then, on top of all that, it turns out that the escape hatch was, in fact, a fabrication on an already existing fabrication. Thus making it irrelevant almost beyond comprehension. That is why this particular bit of fabrication not only fascinated Dr. Culver on a professional level but also convinced him that Rachel was, in fact, legitimately crazy. After all you didn't run across delusions this complicated every day.   
  
"You no longer believe that though, do you? About copying the tape, that is."  
  
She fixed her malicious stare on Dr. Culver. "No, I don't because if it were true then I would still have my son, wouldn't I?"  
  
Uh-oh, he thought, I've done it now.  
  
"WOULDN'T I, YOU SMUG-ASS PRICK!?" Rachel leapt up from her seat. "YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT ALL THE ANSWERS BUT YOU DON'T KNOW SHIT!"  
  
This time Dr. Culver recoiled. He quickly gathered his notes and micro-cassette recorder and backed away towards the door, which then flew open as two burly men dressed in white rushed in to subdue Rachel.   
  
"YOU DON'T CARE ABOUT ME OR MY SON! ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS SAMARA, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Rachel hollered, as the two men wrestled her to the floor. "THAT'S ALL YOU REALLY WANT TO HEAR ABOUT! SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!"  
  
The fluorescent lights overhead began to hum loudly and flicker violently.  
  
"SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!" The hum became a whine and then a screech as the flickering became more erratic. "SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!"  
  
One of the men produced a syringe and jabbed into Rachel's arm. "SAMARA! Samara! Samaraaaaa..." The lights exploded along with their protective covering, showering everyone in the room with glass. Everything went black. 


	2. 

There was no doubt about it; he was going to miss the desert. He had become quite accustomed to the stark scenery that lay out his window. He remembered when he first came here - just a few years back - that the change in landscape had been quite a shock. Most of his life had been spent on an island. He was used to being surrounded by water, not by sand. It didn't take long for him to adjust though. He came to realize that there really wasn't much difference between the sea and the desert. In his mind's eye they were both miles and miles of magnificent desolation. You ventured far enough into either one and you would find yourself utterly alone, just you against the elements. Not exactly something to venture into unprepared, he thought to himself. He had wandered into the desert on a couple of occasions. He felt that it cleared his mind. He had done the same thing back on the island - except, of course, that required a boat of some sort if you really wanted to venture far from the shore, which was what he liked to do. You needed no boat in the desert. He liked that. It was just you and the desert. Now, however, he had to leave it. There were matters abroad that needed tending to.  
  
"America," he said to his reflection in the mirror. "I should have known."  
  
The face that stared back at him was thin and long. The brown, leathery skin pulled tightly over his sharp features looked worn and weathered. His cold, silvery eyes were like beams of light.  
  
"Yes, I should have known," he repeated to himself and then produced a comb from the vanity drawer. Straight back over his high forehead was the way he liked to brush his shiny, black hair.  
  
"If it is what I think it is..." He nodded in approval at himself. "Yes, I know, you are thinking the same thing I am, aren't you? This has unforeseen possibilities, immeasurable probabilities. We could very well be on the verge of something extraordinary. Yes...yes."  
  
He inserted the comb in a pocket within the suitcase that lay open on a chair next to the vanity. Returning to the mirror, he adjusted his suit.  
  
"Just one more thing," he said, smiling at himself.  
  
From a hidden cubbyhole at the back of the closet, he retrieved a small box. He was just about to put it in the suitcase when he changed his mind.  
  
"A quick peek before putting it away," he told his reflective counterpart and then put the box on the vanity.   
  
The box looked like a miniature treasure chest. Pulling out a small gold key from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, he opened it. There was a smaller box inside it, which he pulled out. This one didn't look anything like a treasure chest. It was fairly thin and rectangular. He ran his long, bony fingers around the four narrower edges of the box. He closed his eyes searching for the pressure points. When he had found all four, he pressed them all simultaneously.  
  
"Ah-hah!" he exclaimed as the box snapped open.   
  
Lying all curled up inside it was a thick, long lock of black hair. There were two bands - one on each end - that were holding it together. He grasped the lock by one of the bands and picked it up. He held it up admiringly. It was very long. He wrapped it several times around his hand and then made a fist. Then he buried his face within the hair. With a deep inhale, he sucked in its aroma. It reminded him of the ocean. I will be passing over it soon, he thought.  
  
"I will pass over it like the wind," he said, turning his attention once again to his reflection in the mirror. "In a giant, metal bird I will pass over its vast surface and not once will its water touch my flesh." The two smiled at each other. "Our journey begins. It is the truth that we seek... and once we have found the truth, and only then, will we know how to use it." Their smile broadened but it never reached their cold, penetrating stare. 


	3. 

It had been one hell of a day for Dr. Culver. First, the session with Rachel had ended in total mayhem. It would have been better if they had never had one, he surmised. Instead of moving forward they had taken a couple of steps backward. He was now losing not only time but ground as well. Then after that he had a meeting over the whole Rachel incident. State officials wanted to bring in a third party, "to aid him in his treatment with Rachel," they had said. The gall, Dr. Culver thought to himself. If he felt that he needed help he would have asked for it. He was feeling better now that he was at home though. Home sweet home, he thought. What he needed now more than anything else was some dinner, and a nice, juicy steak sounded pretty good.  
  
Once refreshed from the hearty meal he prepared himself, Dr. Culver wanted to review the meeting in more detail. He still had his micro-cassette recorder with him at the time and had recorded the conversation. He felt it definitely needed reviewing, because after they dropped the bomb about the third party his brain just shut down due to shock. He couldn't even remember the name of the third party. That's right, they had someone already picked out. He couldn't believe it. They must have been preparing for this for a while now. The gall!  
  
Taking a seat in his favorite recliner, Dr. Culver fired up a cigar, gathered his notepad and pen, and picked up the recorder. He took several puffs off of his stogie while the tape rewound. He took one last puff, stopped the tape, and pushed play.   
  
"if it were true then I would still have my son, wouldn't I? WOULDN'T I, YOU SMUG-ASS..."  
  
Click. He stopped the tape. He had rewound it too far.  
  
I am not a smug-ass prick. I do care about her and her son, he thought to himself, remembering Rachel's outburst. I only care about Samara because that is where all the answers lie. And if she wasn't so damn crazy in the first place then Rachel would realize that she is Samara and caring about Samara is actually about her. Crazy-ass bitch. Oh yeah, nice attitude there, doctor. No wonder they're bringing in a third party. Quiet! You're supposed to be on my side, remember?  
  
Even though he would never admit out loud, Dr. Culver was hurt by the accusations that Rachel had thrown at him. That is why he decided that he would listen to the rest of Rachel's session on double speed. He was so close to the end of it that he didn't want to fast forward and miss the beginning of the meeting and then have to rewind again which held the possibility of hearing Rachel call him hurtful names once again. His day had been bad enough already without hearing them again. It amused him anyway listening to people on double speed. They sounded like cartoon chipmunks he had seen as a kid.   
  
"SAMARA! SAMARA! SAMARA!" the cartoon chipmunk squeaked.  
  
Dr. Culver chuckled at it. But then...  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
He stopped the tape yet again and inexplicable fear grew within him. Laying the recorder on the table next to him, he got up and backed away from it. You're being silly, he thought to himself. Silly? You heard it too. Don't deny it. That was a voice and you know it. And it sure as shit didn't sound like a cartoon chipmunk, did it? No, it didn't, he agreed with himself.  
  
After pacing for several minutes Dr. Culver returned to the recorder and fast-forwarded the tape for a good length of time. He no longer cared if he missed the beginning of the meeting. All he cared about was making sure he got past that voice. 


	4. 

The wet sand felt good squishing between her toes. Rachel was having the time of her life with her son. The two of them were running and playing along the beachfront. It was a fine, summer day. A cool, gentle breeze was blowing in from the ocean. There was a clear blue sky overhead and the sun was aglow with golden light. Rachel was at peace with the world and filled with happy contentment.  
  
"What's that, mommy?" Aidan stopped playing to ask.  
  
Rachel turned and looked at what Aidan was pointing at. It looked like a huge rock along the shoreline.  
  
"I don't know, honey. Let's go check it out," she said, taking Aidan by the hand and leading him towards the rock.  
  
All the peace and happiness drained from Rachel the closer they got to the rock. For she discovered that it was, in fact, no rock at all. It was a horse, a dead horse. She stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
"What is it, mommy?" Aidan asked.  
  
"Nothing, baby. Come on," she said, with a trace of panic.  
  
They quickly turned around only to find that the shoreline behind them was suddenly littered with dead horses. Thick, dark clouds rolled in, smothering the sun. The sea turned blood red.  
  
"No, no!" Rachel cried.  
  
On the horizon an eerie, orange light separated the sea and the now black sky. A lone, dark figure stood there.  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaidan," it called out.  
  
"NOOOOOO!" Rachel cried back.  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaidan."  
  
"It's time for me to go, Rachel," Aidan said. He was no longer the playful child he had been only minutes ago on the beach. He was now the serious little boy she used to know.  
  
"No, baby, stay. We can play more. Don't you want to play?" she pleaded.  
  
"It's time for me to go," he said. Then he turned away from Rachel and started walking across the water to the figure.  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaidan."  
  
"No, please," Rachel set out after him. He was getting away because she couldn't walk across water like he was. And when the water got chin deep, she realized that it wasn't water after all, it was blood. She had been hoping that the water was just the color of blood and not the real thing but now that the coppery taste of it filled her mouth, she knew all too well that it was real.  
  
"Oh God, no," she spat. "Aaaaaaaaaaaidan!"  
  
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaidan," the ghostly voice, echoed.  
  
It was then she realized that she had truly lost him.  
  
"No, no. NOOOOO!" She awoke with a start and then screamed. The dark figure on the horizon now stood before her, right in front of her bed. Rachel shrank as far away from it as she could, kicking away the covers in the process. She didn't need to see the face behind all the long, wet, black hair to know who it was. It was Samara.  
  
"He's coming," Samara said, and then Rachel awoke with a start.   
  
Rachel frantically looked around the room but it was empty. It had all been a dream, a dream within a dream. She hated those. Getting out of bed, Rachel sat in the chair. She would have liked to take a walk but she wasn't allowed out of the room at this hour. So she decided that she was just going to sit here in her chair until they came for her. 


	5. 

No matter how hard he tried, Dr. Culver could not get the voice on the tape out of his head. How did it get there? That's what was really bothering him. He tried to convince himself several times that he had just imagined it, but he knew better than that. He didn't need - or want for that matter - to double-check it. What he really needed was a second opinion.  
  
"It's a little early for weekly ass-kicking, isn't it?" the man answering the door said.  
  
"Very funny," Dr. Culver responded as he entered.  
  
"It must really burn your hide that someone like me, a lowly landscaper with no education past high school, can consistently beat someone like you at chess, Mr. Ph.D. Where was it you got your degree again, a crackerjack box?"  
  
"All right, James, that's enough. I'm not in the mood today," Dr. Culver said.  
  
"Hey, sorry man, I was just ribbing you a little bit, but obviously you got something on your mind. So, what gives, Ed?" James asked.   
  
"I want your opinion on something," Dr. Culver said and then played the voice on the recorder. "Does that sound like a voice to you?"  
  
"Yeah, it's a little slow, but it definitely sounds like a voice. Let's run it through the four-track and then we can speed it up a lot more with the pitch control," James said and then proceeded to hook the micro-cassette recorder to the old Tascam four-track he had. "I don't have any external speakers hooked up to the four-track so we'll have to take turns listening through headphones. So give me just a minute while I set the pitch. I'll try the fastest speed first."  
  
James turned the pitch control knob all the way to the right, put the headphones on, and then pushed play. He suddenly shot Dr. Culver a bewildered, frightened look. Then he laughed.  
  
"You almost had me, Ed. What did you do, get a four-track yourself or something?"  
  
"No, James. Why?"  
  
"Oh, come on, Ed. We've been friends since the eighth grade. You know you can't pull the wool over my eyes. How'd you do it?"  
  
"I didn't do it, James. I don't even know what it is."  
  
"Look, man, the joke's over." James was starting to look annoyed.  
  
"I didn't do anything, James," Dr. Culver demanded.  
  
"You're not kidding, are you?" Realization suddenly dawned on James's face. "In that case... that is the freakiest thing I have ever heard."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You know me, Ed. I've recorded everything: blenders, cars, printing machines, you name it, I've recorded it. Then I would mix it all together on as many tracks as I could. You know, trying to create a new form of music using just machines."  
  
"I remember," Dr. Culver said. In fact, it was the reason he selected James to listen to the tape. He figured James had an ear for this sort of thing. "So what's the point?"  
  
"What's the point?" James seemed shocked by the question. "The point is: with all that noise on all those tracks - and you know I loved to mess with the pitch control - I never once heard a distinct voice. Not once! I mean, there were times where, if I listened real close, I could fool myself into thinking I heard a voice, but not really. Not like that!" He looked at the four-track with a mixture of fear and awe.  
  
"It's definitely a voice, then?"  
  
"It's a voice all right. Go ahead, listen for yourself," James said and handed him the headphones.  
  
The voices on the tape were so fast now that they were nothing but squeaks. Dr. Culver couldn't tell where he was at on the tape. He was just about to ask James to cue up for him again when he heard it. How could lights humming and screeching sound so unmistakably like a little girl calling for her mommy? He didn't know but for some reason it scared the shit out of him. 


	6. 

Even though he was flying many thousands of feet above it, he could still feel the pull of the ocean. Its power over him was undeniable; especially since that night he met her. It was only a few years ago but he remembered it as if it were yesterday.   
  
It was near dusk and he was in his boat. Plenty of times before he had ventured out into the open sea to escape from the island but this time was different. This time he was escaping from something specific. It was the seventh day and he was escaping from her. He knew she would come. He had seen it before. If he stayed out here all night then at dawn it would be safe to return to shore. That's what he thought at the time. After all, there were no televisions in the ocean.   
  
How ignorant he was back then. Sitting on the plane, he laughed at his own ignorance. How could he have known that her appearance wasn't exclusive to televisions? Anything reflective would suffice. Looking back on it now, he realized what a colossal mistake it had been venturing out into the ocean. It was the single largest reflective surface on the planet. Once again he laughed at the ignorance he had shown. He was nothing but a big, sitting duck out there on the open water.  
  
A duck that had paddled far from the shore until the shore had disappeared entirely from the horizon. Even if she came out of the nearest television to him she would not reach him in time, he remembered thinking. He was hoping that there was a time limit on her appearance. That if she couldn't get to him in time then he would be free from her grip.  
  
Darkness settled in and the moon hung low in the nighttime sky. With each passing minute he grew more anxious and fearful. His eyes scanned the horizon expecting at any moment to see her approaching. The closer the moment got the quicker his head darted to and fro. It is time, he thought. Then, as if on cue, there was a thud from underneath the boat. He sat petrified. Another thud caused him to spring to his feet. The small boat almost capsized from the sudden movement. Several more thuds followed. Whatever it was, it was slowly moving along the length of the boat up to the bow. Once there it stopped and the night fell eerily silent.  
  
For several minutes he stood there looking at the bow of the boat, waiting and expecting. But nothing happened. He sat back down and prepared to paddle away when a hand erupted from the sea and grabbed the bow. The other hand quickly followed. White knuckling the handles of the paddles, he sat, motionless. He stared at the hands at the other end of the boat and the same thought kept echoing in his head: there are no fingernails on those hands.   
  
His eyes grew wider and wider as he watched the figure climb into the boat. Its moves were unnaturally jerky. He wanted to scream but couldn't find his voice. He recoiled as the figure stood up in the boat. He knew it was her, knew that his time had come. He had tried to cheat death and he had failed. Everything that he had worked so hard for in his life was now lost. Ultimately, though, he had lost very little... but gained so much.  
  
He couldn't help but to laugh yet again at the ignorance he had shown that night on the boat. So much had he learned since then. So much had been bestowed upon him. It was a night that he would never forget. The details were burned into his psyche. And the ocean... the ocean, he now knew, descended to depths undreamed of. It was shortly after that night that he abandoned the ocean for the desert. Not due to fear though. No, he did not fear the ocean. It would always be his true home. He left it because he no longer needed it. The desert was what he needed now. The desert was a place where he could go to escape. Where she couldn't find him. Not that he feared her either. Not anymore anyway. But he still needed a place where no one, not even she, would disturb him. 


	7. 

During the day Rachel was given freedom to roam around designated areas of the mental institution. The most popular place, of course, was the social lounge. She avoided that place like the plague, though. She didn't like to be anywhere near a television. Most of the time she spent in her room or wandered the halls. She liked to walk up and down each one, especially the one that led to the gate that held her captive. She longed to be free.  
  
It was Sunday and Rachel had nothing to do all day. Dr. Culver never had a session on Sunday. Rachel was thankful for that. She found the sessions tiring. It was always the same thing, the same questions over and over again. No questions today, she thought with a subtle smile.  
  
Rachel spent most of the morning by the window, watching the gentle rain that fell in the courtyard below. She liked the way the rain rippled across the water when it fell into the puddles. All her fears and doubts melted away as she became mesmerized by this liquid ballet. She wanted to cast the bars on the window aside and play in the rain like a child. She wanted to stare up at the open sky and feel raindrops dance across her face. With her eyes closed, she tried to imagine this sensation.  
  
"Mommy, what's that?"  
  
Rachel's eyes sprang open to find Aidan at her feet. She smiled. She was so glad to see her little boy again.  
  
"What's what, honey?" she asked.   
  
"That?" Aidan pointed at what looked like a large rock on the shoreline.  
  
"I don't know. Let's go check it out," she said and took Aidan by the hand.  
  
The closer they got to the rock, Rachel discovered that it wasn't just one large rock but a bunch of smaller rocks all stacked on top on each other. It was a well.  
  
"What is it, mommy?"  
  
Rachel froze. The voice that asked that question no longer sounded like her sweet, little boy. She slowly turned her head to see who it was. It was Samara. Rachel immediately released Samara's hand and retreated from her. She slipped on the wet sand and fell to the ground but continued to retreat until her back was against the base of the well.  
  
"What is it, mommy?" Samara repeated and then smiled at Rachel.  
  
It wasn't the wet, dirty, scary Samara that had stood at the foot of Rachel's bed the other night. It was the sweet looking, little, abused Samara that Rachel had saved from the well.   
  
"Samara?" Rachel said, confused.  
  
"He's coming," Samara said and then pointed out to sea.  
  
Rachel watched as the ocean dried up, leaving only desert, and out of the desert a tall, dark solitary figure approached. In his wake, Rachel saw the desert turning to glass behind him.  
  
"Who is it, Samara? Who's coming?"  
  
"Daddy," she answered with a smile.  
  
The figure was soon upon them. Rachel could not see his face because the sun was directly behind him. All she could see was a dark figure surrounded by light. The figure stretched out its hand to grab her. She closed her eyes in fear for she knew that his touch meant death. And when she felt his cold grip upon her shoulder, she screamed.  
  
The orderly jumped back from Rachel and prepared to pounce.  
  
"No, please, wait," Rachel pleaded, realizing what had happened. "You just scared me. That's all."  
  
The orderly relaxed and said, "It's time for your medication."  
  
Immersed in thought, Rachel followed him. "He's coming," Samara had said. How could her father be coming? He was dead. Rachel knew this for a fact. She was there when Richard Morgan committed suicide. She had also been questioned about his death. She had been questioned about many deaths for that matter. So how could Richard Morgan be coming? Rachel shuddered at the idea. The events of the past year had taught her that anything was possible. 


	8. 

If there was one thing Dr. Culver couldn't stand it was a last minute notice, like the one that was sprung on him this particular morning. He was wearing a scowl on his face when he walked into the room where Rachel's session was being held. This, however, did not concern Rachel nearly as much as the man that immediately followed Dr. Culver into the room. The moment the tall, dark man walked into the room the overhead lights hummed and flickered. Dr. Culver froze in mid stride and glared up at the lights. There was panic in his eyes. "Mommy," the little girl's voice from the tape cried out in his head. The voice he now referred to as the "anomaly." The lights only flickered on and off a couple of times, but every time they went off Rachel noticed the tall, dark man staring at her, his steely, silver eyes penetrating the blackness.   
  
When the lights finished, the two men took a seat across from Rachel. Dr. Culver did so rather tentatively, still glaring at the lights above him.   
  
"Rachel," Dr. Culver finally said, regaining his composure. "I would like to introduce you to Professor Qara. He is going to be observing our session today."  
  
Professor Qara reached across the table, offering his hand to Rachel. She took it unwillingly. She could tell his hands were very cold even through the thick, black gloves he was wearing.  
  
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you," he said.  
  
"Thanks," she replied at a loss. What a strange thing to say, she thought. And then, noticing the bewildered look on Dr. Culver's face, she felt a little more at ease and added, "It is a pleasure to meet you too."  
  
"All right, then. Now that the introductions are out of the way," Dr. Culver said. "Let us begin, shall we?"  
  
Play it safe: that was the theme of the session. Dr. Culver didn't want to do anything at all to upset Rachel in front of Professor Qara. He felt that he was already walking a tightrope, so Dr. Culver made sure to steer clear of the triggers that had set Rachel off in the past.   
  
"Well, that was a very good session, Rachel," Dr. Culver said and began packing away his things. "I feel that we made real progress today." This, of course, was a lie. In truth, he felt that it had been a completely worthless session. No progress had been made. He found out nothing new or helpful. And he got nowhere near the meat of the matter. No progress whatsoever. He may as well have stayed home. At least everything went smoothly. Professor Qara would have nothing negative to report back to the committee.  
  
"Excuse me, Dr. Culver," Professor Qara said. "I have a couple of questions that I would like to ask Rachel, if you don't mind?"  
  
But Dr. Culver did mind. This was his patient. But how would it look to the committee if he didn't grant Professor Qara this freedom? He didn't know.  
  
"No, I don't mind," Dr. Culver said, flatly. He had liked Professor Qara when he was quietly observing, but now, a feeling of hatred churned in Dr. Culver's gut as Professor Qara took center stage.  
  
"I was wondering about the tape," Professor Qara said, turning his attention to Rachel.  
  
"You watch it, you die," she blurted out. She didn't like the professor. He had done nothing but stare at her with those creepy eyes the whole session.  
  
"Yes... yes, I gathered that from Dr. Culver's notes. That is not what I am interested in. I am more concerned about the tape itself."  
  
"What about it?" Rachel asked.  
  
"Professor Qara," Dr. Culver interrupted. "Perhaps we should have a quick word outside."  
  
"In just a moment, doctor," Professor Qara replied. "You destroyed the tape, did you not?"  
  
"Yes, I destroyed it."  
  
"Professor Qara," Dr. Culver demanded. He knew the direction the professor was going headed for disaster.  
  
"Dr. Culver please," Professor Qara insisted and stared Dr. Culver down. "Just a minute... that is all I am asking for."  
  
Never in all his days as a psychiatrist had Dr. Culver been treated like that. Anger seethed within him.   
  
"What I am most interested in," Professor Qara said, turning back to Rachel, "is what you did with the two copies that you and your son made."  
  
Not once in all the sessions with Dr. Culver had this question come up. It took her a bit by surprise. Why did he want to know, she asked herself. What good could possibly come from him knowing? Her first instinct was to lie and tell him that she destroyed those tapes as well but there was something inside her that stopped her from doing this. Something deep within her wanted to tell him the truth, something that would not be denied.  
  
"I took them to a video store," she finally said.  
  
"Which video store?" Professor Qara asked.  
  
"Professor, really! What difference does that make?" Dr. Culver couldn't stand it anymore. He had to say something.  
  
Professor Qara shot him a quick, disapproving look and then turned back to Rachel. She didn't want to tell him which video store she had taken the tapes to. She felt that if did something terrible was going to happen. A ringing came to her ears. She fought it. The ringing became a screech but she still did not give in. The screech grew louder and her vision began to blur. The only thing in focus was a pair of eyes in front of her. They were searching, burrowing into her soul for the answer she was so desperately trying to keep from them. Her head felt like it was about to explode. Then...  
  
"MARVIN'S VIDEORAMA, YOU SON OF A BITCH! THERE, I SAID IT! NOW GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" The screeching stopped and Rachel collapsed. Two orderlies rushed in and carried her away.  
  
"I am a bit confused, professor," Dr. Culver said. "Maybe you can explain it to me. Just what exactly was the point of that line of questioning? What were you hoping to achieve?"  
  
"You should be happy, doctor. We made progress today."  
  
"Progress? How was that progress?"  
  
"She had to face her own delusions. The outburst was a result of that realization. You see, doctor, her delusions are bound by rules, which she has set for herself. Both you and I know that there is no tape. Deep down she knows it too. And if there is no tape then everything she believes is false. For you see, doctor, in her mind, it all began with the existence of the tape. It started it all. Now, however, she realizes that there is no tape and that is progress."  
  
"And why would she come to that realization, professor?"  
  
"She has no choice now. When I asked her about the copies she made it confused her. The reason it confused her is because she had forgotten about them. She knew that she couldn't say that she destroyed them like she did the original because of the rules that she has set for herself. In her mind, she knows that she would have said that she destroyed them along with the original when you first asked her about it, but she didn't. So if she did not destroy them, then they still exist, and if they still exist then they must be somewhere, and ultimately she would know where. But she doesn't know where they are because they don't exist. That is why she took so long to answer. She had to create a new fabrication in her story, and during the time it took to create that fabrication she came to realize that her whole story was a fabrication. Thus causing the outburst that we witnessed."   
  
Dr. Culver hated to admit it, but it made sense. Still, he did not agree with the professor's tactics. He felt that a "meeting of the minds" was in order.  
  
"What are you doing tonight, professor?"   
  
"Ah, I am afraid that I have other business to attend to this evening. I am free tomorrow."  
  
"Excellent. Tomorrow it is," Dr. Culver said.   
  
Judging by the doctor's demeanor, Professor Qara knew that Dr. Culver bought his explanation completely. However, he sensed that in the long run the good doctor would become a liability... a liability that would have to be dealt with. 


	9. 

Dr. Culver was much more pleased with this day's session than he had been with the previous one. The lights acted completely normal. They didn't flicker or hum or do anything out of the ordinary. Dr. Culver was very grateful for that. Rachel didn't have any kind of outburst. He was grateful for that as well. Of course, he was still playing it safe. He wanted one session where nothing went wrong and he got it. Everything went basically without a hitch. The only close call was at the end of the session when Professor Qara wanted to ask Rachel a few more questions. There was no way Dr. Culver was going to allow that a second time. He instantly called in the orderlies and the session was deemed officially closed much to the professor's chagrin. Dr. Culver was afraid that Professor Qara would be so upset about the outcome of the session that he would cancel the meeting they had planned this evening. Much to his surprise though, Professor Qara was more than willing to attend the meeting.   
  
An inexplicable sense of foreboding came over Dr. Culver when the doorbell rang. Something deep inside told him not to answer it. He knew who was at the door. It was Professor Qara. And even though Dr. Culver found the professor somewhat strange in both appearance and manner, he had no reason to fear him. So, disregarding instinct, Dr. Culver opened the door and invited Professor Qara into his home.  
  
It was a stormy night and the rumble of thunder could be heard inside Dr. Culver's living room as the two men sat down for their meeting. Dr. Culver was never a great conversationalist. He loathed small talk. He liked to get to the meat of the matter, especially with those he considered colleagues such as the professor.  
  
"I just wanted to go over a few things with you, professor, regarding our sessions with Rachel," Dr. Culver began. "I don't know how things are done in Japan, but here in America a relationship between a patient and psychiatrist is very personal and fragile. I have to admit, I am none too pleased about your being present during Rachel's sessions. It's nothing personal. I just feel that your or any person's presence disrupts the relationship that Rachel and I have developed over the past months. Thereby jeopardizing everything that I have worked so hard to achieve during that time. Now, of course, there is nothing I can do about this. The committee wants you there, and if they want you there, then that is the way it is going to be. However, I think that if we work together we can salvage the situation. Keep the damage to a minimum, so to speak. Rachel is... complicated. One wrong move and she withdraws into herself or, as you witnessed yesterday, has a complete breakdown. I feel that there are only so many breakdowns that she has in her. I fear that at some point we could lose her entirely, and that is something that neither one of us wants. Don't you agree, professor?"   
  
"Absolutely," Professor Qara said, his eyes fixed on Dr. Culver.  
  
"Yes... well..." Dr. Culver was slightly disturbed by the professor's gaze. "I am glad to see we are in agreement. Now, I have no problem with your observing the sessions. In fact - after careful consideration - I think that could be very helpful. I think that we should meet like this on regular occasions. Then at those times we discuss what you have observed and the direction that we feel might be best to lure Rachel. I think that the two of us working together can make real headway. However, I must ask - for the time being anyway - that you submit any questions you have for Rachel to me. You see there are certain subjects that set her off."  
  
"Like the tape," Professor Qara injected.  
  
"Exactly," Dr. Culver exclaimed. He felt that the professor was beginning to understand his point.  
  
"Like Samara," Professor Qara added.  
  
"Again, yes." Dr. Culver was pleased. "These are subjects that should be handled with care. Rachel should be led into these subjects with subtle deception."  
  
"And how do you feel about Samara, Dr. Culver?"  
  
"How do I feel about Samara?" Dr. Culver repeated, somewhat confused and agitated by the question. He found the question to be nothing more or less than a clever diversionary tactic on the professor's part. "Samara is a figment of Rachel's imagination, which is why we should..."  
  
"But Samara is real. Rachel found her body at the bottom of a well," Professor Qara stated.  
  
"Well, yes, I know that," Dr. Culver replied, feeling more agitated than ever. "Obviously that Samara is real but that is not the one I was referring to, even though I am sure that it was Rachel's obsession over that Samara that led her to fabricate the one I am referring to. You know the Samara I am talking about, professor, the one that kills people after they watch the tape."  
  
"Yes...yes," Professor Qara said. "So you feel that this Samara is nothing more than a fabrication of Rachel's stemming from her obsession over the real one she found in the well?"  
  
"Precisely," Dr. Culver said. "What else could it be?"  
  
"And you don't think that there could be any kind of spiritual interference involved here?"  
  
"Spiritual interference?" Dr. Culver asked, eyeing the professor, suspiciously. "You mean like ghosts?"  
  
"Not quite, but it will do for the moment."  
  
"No, I don't think it has anything to do with spiritual interference," Dr. Culver said, disgustedly. "Do you?"  
  
"As you clearly pointed out at the beginning of our conversation, we are of two different cultures. Here, in America, science is your religion. You try to explain everything with logic and reason. The supernatural is simply an equation. If you cannot explain it then you call it an anomaly and ignore it as best you can. In Japan, we are more accepting of the spiritual world. We also observe rites and rituals to protect ourselves against unwanted spirits. To you this may seem like a bunch of hocus-pocus or unwarranted superstition but in Japan it is a very serious and very real aspect of our culture. So, to answer your question, I feel that spiritual intervention is definitely a possibility."  
  
Well... we'll have to look into that then," Dr. Culver said, unconvincingly. He was having a hard time hiding the disbelief he felt. He thought for sure that this must have been some sort of elaborate joke. The only thing missing was the punch line. After some quick, silent deliberation, Dr. Culver came to the realization that Professor Qara was crazy. How was he supposed to treat Rachel with this loon in the room? Rachel's court date was approaching, and now he had this to deal with. The pressure was mounting. One thing for sure, he thought to himself, Professor Qara would have to be kept in line from here on out. There was no doubt about that. "Look, professor, whether it is a case of fabrication or spiritual intervention I must insist that any future questions you have for Rachel come through me first. I am after all her doctor and know her better than anyone else. We must work together on this."  
  
"Very well then, doctor. It is obvious that your decision is made," Professor Qara said as he removed his gloves.  
  
Dr. Culver found this especially interesting, since he had never seen the professor without his gloves on. The professor's hands looked just fine to him. He figured the professor had some sort of skin condition that warranted the gloves but that did not appear to be the case. Just another side effect of being crazy, the doctor deduced.  
  
"To our new found relationship," Professor Qara said and offered his hand.  
  
Don't take it, Dr. Culver's instinct screamed. He casually observed the professor's hand more closely, looking for blemishes or blotches and found none. It's all right, he told himself, and took it. The moment they clasped hands, Dr. Culver felt ice run through his hand. He tried to let go but the professor's grip was too strong. The ice traveled through his arm and into his body. When it hit his lungs, the doctor gasped for breath.   
  
"Do feel that, doctor?" Professor Qara asked, with a hint of sarcasm. "Yes... yes. I can see that you do. That is the acceleration of time wearing on your body, breaking it down."  
  
Dr. Culver's knees buckled and he fell to the ground. Pain shot through his body upon impact. It felt like millions of needles piercing his veins.  
  
"It is sad, really. Only now in the face of death do you begin to understand what it is you are truly against. Only now when you find the darkness creeping up on you do you begin to accept what you have fought so hard to deny." Professor Qara smiled. "Only now are you willing to accept the truth."  
  
With every ounce of energy he had left, Dr. Culver tried desperately to break free of the professor's grip, but to no avail. He knew the end was close and he was grateful. He was grateful for anything that would stop the pain. 


	10. 

Rachel had no idea why she woke up so abruptly but at the moment this was not her main concern. She stared in disbelief at the door of her room. It was wide open. She got out of bed and walked towards it. Just before she got to it she stepped in something cold and wet. Looking down, she saw a large puddle of water at the foot of her bed. Samara, Rachel thought to herself. There was a trail of water that shot out from the puddle that led through the open door. Tentatively, Rachel followed it.  
  
Just outside her door the trail forked. To the right it led to the social lounge. Rachel wanted no part of that. To the left she couldn't tell where it went. It just disappeared into the dark hallway. Rachel was unnerved by all the emptiness. She could see or hear no activity of any kind. She stood in the doorway racked with indecision. She squinted in an effort to see down the hallway, to see where the trail led. Just then a flash of lightning from outside lit up the hallway, revealing a small figure standing at the other end of it looking back at Rachel. Then everything went dark again.   
  
Rachel quickly retreated back to her room and cowered in the corner right next to the door. There she waited in silence. She slowed her breathing in an effort to calm down. Then she turned her ear towards the door and listened intently. There was nothing, nothing except the muffled sound of thunder coming from the storm outside. She relaxed a little and then she heard it. They were approaching from the end of the hall where she had seen the figure: the unmistakable sounds of wet, sloppy footsteps. Rachel's heart began to pound violently in her chest as the footsteps grew ever closer. She tried desperately to quiet her breathing, which had become loud and erratic. Still the footsteps advanced. Rachel threw her hand over her mouth to stifle the scream she felt rising within her. Tears formed in her eyes. The fear was too great to stifle. She began to shake uncontrollably. Then the footsteps stopped. It sounded like they stopped right outside her door.  
  
"Please, please," Rachel pleaded under her breath. "Go away."   
  
Rachel waited. She knew it was only a matter of time. She knew that Samara had come for her at last. But nothing happened. The tension within Rachel grew to a feverish pitch until she couldn't stand it any longer.  
  
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!" she screamed. Her outburst echoed through the building, bouncing from hallway to hallway.  
  
With all the nerve she could muster up, Rachel leapt out of the corner to face Samara, but she wasn't there. Rachel poked her head out of the room and quickly glanced both ways down the hallway. It was empty.  
  
"Fine. You want to play games?" Rachel said aloud. "I'm ready to end this anyway."  
  
With renewed determination Rachel set off down the hallway, following the trail. At the end of the hallway there was another puddle where the figure had been standing. A new trail shot off from it leading down another hallway. It was Rachel's favorite hallway, the one that led to the gate. When she arrived at the gate she found it was partially opened. She continued to follow the water trail that snaked through the opening and into forbidden territory. Rachel had never been past the gate unsupervised. A new fear swelled within her, a fear of being caught. She knew that freedom was close at hand. Where were all the orderlies and night watchmen? Was Samara doing all this? Would Samara let her escape? And if so, why? These questions ran through Rachel's mind as she skulked silently through the hallway.  
  
The door to the outside world was now in Rachel's sight. Her pace quickened only to come to a dead stop in the center of a four-way intersection about fifty feet away from the door. The water trail she had been following had ended. She now stood before a large puddle that had only one trail branching off of it, the one that led back to her room. Without moving her body, Rachel frantically looked up and down the hallways to her right and left. Then she turned her attention to the lobby that was in front of her. She knew Samara was close. She could feel it.  
  
The sound of wet footsteps came from the right hallway. Rachel turned to face them. Then the sound of footsteps from the left hallway forced Rachel to swing back around. Fear gripped her heart. She wanted to run back to her room, but the door was right there. It was hers for the taking. Just then Samara emerged from a doorway on the right side of the lobby. She jerkily lumbered her way to a large mirror hanging in the lobby. Rachel watched in terror as Samara talked to her own reflection. Rachel couldn't hear her but she was sure that's what Samara was doing. If only she could see her mouth she would know, but all the long, black, wet hair prevented that.  
  
Frozen on the spot, Rachel gasped when Samara turned to face her. Samara's reflection, however, remained still. A high-pitched screech suddenly filled Rachel's head as Samara advanced on her.  
  
"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" Rachel screamed, her hands clutching her head.  
  
"He's coming," Samara said. A strange, creepy echo followed. It sounded like words but none that Rachel had ever heard.  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!" The screeching had become intolerable.  
  
"He's coming," Samara repeated and was instantly ten feet closer to Rachel.  
  
"NO! GET AWAY!"   
  
"He's coming." The words along with the echo swam in Rachel's head. They twisted and coiled around each other, forming a single strand of dialect that burrowed into Rachel's brain while the ever-persistent screeching numbed all thought and reason.  
  
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Rachel screamed and then collapsed into the puddle of water. 


	11. 

The world before him was blurry and shrouded in white. He squinted his eyes because the light hurt them. A large, dark figure moved into his field of vision.  
  
"I see that you are finally awake," it said.  
  
"Where am I?" he asked.  
  
"That is not important," it said.  
  
His head hurt and he felt weak. Slowly the world came into focus along with his mind. Recalling the events that led him here, Dr. Culver became all too aware of his current, precarious position. He found himself tied to a chair in a room he did not recognize and looming over him was Professor Qara.  
  
"I thought you killed me," Dr. Culver croaked.  
  
"No, my good doctor. You are of no value to me dead. I have other plans for you," Professor Qara said with a smile.  
  
"This is kidnapping, you know?"  
  
"This is all of your own making, Dr. Culver. It really would have been easier for me to pick up a stray off the street, some homeless person that no one would've missed for this experiment. It would have aroused a lot less suspicion, that is for sure. Unfortunately, your... arrogance demanded that I remove you from your position. There is information I need from Rachel, and with you in the way, demanding that every question I have for her go through you first, it would have been very difficult if not impossible to extract that information from her. And since I already had to remove you there wasn't much sense in finding a second person for this experiment, was there? Killing two birds with one stone, the saying goes, yes?"  
  
"What experiment? What are you going to do to me?"  
  
"Nothing. I am going to do nothing to you. In fact, all I want is for you to watch this." Professor Qara held up a videotape for Dr. Culver to see.  
  
Dr. Culver eyed the tape and the professor suspiciously. "You've got nothing on me," he said, figuring the professor was trying to blackmail him.  
  
"Amazing," Professor Qara said and then laughed. "Absolutely amazing. You have no idea what this tape is, do you? I am guessing that you think this tape contains footage of some uncovered scandal that I caught you in, yes?"  
  
Dr. Culver squirmed in his chair. He didn't like being made fun of.  
  
"You are a stubborn man, doctor, so unwilling to accept the obvious. No, this tape isn't what you think it is. This is one of the copies that Rachel made of Samara's tape. It is known as the Cursed Video. As Rachel so aptly put: you watch it, you die."  
  
"You're joking, right?" Dr. Culver couldn't believe what he was hearing.  
  
"You know, doctor, I figured you would be a little more accepting of the supernatural after our last encounter." The way Professor Qara said encounter, Dr. Culver knew exactly what the professor was referring to: the handshake at the end of their meeting, the one that had almost killed Dr. Culver.  
  
"Where did you find the videotape?" Dr. Culver asked, deciding it was best to play along with the professor's delusions.  
  
"Exactly where Rachel said it would be: Marvin's Videorama. It was just sitting there on the shelf after all this time. I of course haven't watched it, but I know that it is the tape. I can feel it."  
  
"And all you want me to do is watch it?"  
  
"You really don't know what you're getting into, do you? Tell me, doctor, in all the sessions you had with Rachel, you never once ran across anything strange and unusual that you couldn't explain away with reason and logic?"  
  
The little girl's voice on the micro-cassette recorder instantly jumped to Dr. Culver's mind.  
  
"No," he responded. He didn't want to give Professor Qara the satisfaction of knowing that there had actually been something.  
  
"You are lying. I can see it on your face. Now, tell me the truth." Professor Qara removed his gloves.  
  
"There was one incident," Dr. Culver began, reluctantly. "A slight anomaly on one of the audio tapes I made during a session. I thought I heard a little girl's voice."  
  
"Really," Professor Qara said, looking very interested. "What did you do with it?"  
  
"I had a friend listen to it, to verify what I had heard."  
  
"No, that isn't what I meant. What I meant was: do you still have the tape?"  
  
"Yes, it's still in the micro-cassette recorder at my house."  
  
"And how did you feel when you heard her voice?"  
  
"I didn't feel any way. Like I said, it was nothing."  
  
"You are lying again, but it doesn't matter. I can see that it terrified you. Just imagine, doctor, witnessing so much more than just the voice. Imagine coming to face to face with fear, itself. That is what I am asking of you."  
  
"Let's just get on with it," Dr. Culver said, defiantly.  
  
Professor Qara put the videotape in the VCR and then stood directly behind the television, which was in the center of the room. Now he and the TV screen faced Dr. Culver. The sound of static filled the room as the tape started. Professor Qara watched the images from the television reflecting off of Dr. Culver's glasses. Soon, he thought to himself, soon we will see if our long journey has been in vain, or if everything we dreamed possible can become a reality. 


	12. 

Ever since Rachel was found unconscious near the lobby, everyone was keeping a much closer watch on her. That wasn't the only thing that changed that night. She also hadn't had a session since then. Of course, she didn't miss them. It was rather strange though. She had deduced that both Dr. Culver and Professor Qara were missing. She came to this conclusion when she was questioned about them. Apparently, they had been missing since the night she attempted to break out of the institution. No one believed her story. No one even believed that the gate was unlocked and open. Everyone figured that she had forced it open somehow. She had the strong impression that they also believed that she was somehow involved in the unusual disappearance of both Dr. Culver and Professor Qara. This did not surprise her. She had been accused of a lot of crimes lately.  
  
It all started with Aidan's death. That was the first crime she was accused of. It snowballed from there. Before she knew it, she was being first being questioned and then accused of many deaths: Noah - Aidan's father; Richard Morgan - Samara's father; Katie - her niece; three of Katie's high-school friends, who all died at the same time as Katie, so that one was rather difficult for the police to prove; and even Samara herself. They felt that Samara was actually the first person Rachel murdered. They also felt that that was why Rachel retrieved her from the well. They thought that the guilt Rachel felt over killing Samara had finally become too great for her to withstand. This led her to "discover" Samara's corpse in a backhanded attempt to confess the crime. They also thought that when Rachel wasn't arrested for Samara's murder, which would have led to the confession of the other crimes, that Rachel was still racked with guilt. Then she lashed out against the people closest to her: her family. Ultimately, though, she was being charged with just three murders: Aidan's, Noah's, and Richard Morgan's. The district attorney felt that these three cases had sufficient evidence to proceed with. However, both the police and the DA were still working feverishly to amass enough evidence on the other cases to proceed with them.   
  
By far the most damaging evidence of all was the injury found on Rachel's arm after Aidan's death. At first Rachel thought the marks had been left by Samara. Later she became aware of the brutal truth. She now knew that Aidan had left them. She remembered the night well, too well. It was Aidan's seventh day, and even though Rachel had made sure that Aidan did everything she did to ensure his safety, they were both still scared. They stayed up late together. Rachel had no idea how she was going to protect him if Samara came, but she wasn't going to let her little boy face Samara alone. Even if Aidan had watched the tape during the day instead of late at night, it would have made no difference on what happened next. Rachel knew that. One minute they were playing a game and the next Rachel had passed out cold. It was Samara's doing. Samara had gotten Rachel out of the way so she could kill Aidan. When Rachel came to, she found her son dead. She would never forget the look on his face. It was horrifying. Rachel was so shocked by what transpired that she never noticed the marks on her arm. It was the police that pointed them out. Her mind reeled when she realized how they got there. When Samara came for Aidan, he had desperately tried to wake her up by pulling on her arm. She could see him in her mind pulling on her arm and screaming at her for help. Samara wouldn't let Rachel help though. Samara killed her little boy right in front of her and she wasn't able to do a damn thing about it. Rachel hated Samara, but Samara was in her head now.  
  
"He's coming." The words still swam in her mind, always accompanied by the echo. They had been there ever since that night in the lobby. She hadn't felt the same since then. She knew that it was almost time. "He's coming." 


	13. 

Dr. Culver was now ready to escape. He had managed to cut through the ropes that held him to the chair. He had to admit, he was fairly impressed by his own resourcefulness. He broke off a small, wedge-shaped chunk of wood from the chair and used its sharp edges to saw through the ropes that bound him. He had to do it discreetly, though. Professor Qara had installed a camera in one of the corners of the room. Dr. Culver never knew when the professor might be watching. Every chance he got, he worked tirelessly on making his way through the rope. Now he had done it. He knew that all he had to do was cast the ropes aside, but it wasn't time yet. There was still the camera and the locked door to contend with. Dr. Culver knew he would have to ambush Professor Qara. He had it all planned out. When he heard the professor unlocking the door, he would jump out of his chair, then grab the chair and attack the professor as he made his way into the room. Dr. Culver was convinced that this was the best plan. However, he had to be quick and fierce or it wouldn't work.  
  
The sound of the door latch being released from its housing was magnified in Dr. Culver's ears. Adrenaline quickly pumped through his veins as everything else slowed down to a crawl. He threw the ropes off and sprang out of the chair. He was surprised by how heavy the chair was when he picked it up. Professor Qara was barely through the door when the chair hit him. Reeling back through the doorway, Professor Qara fell. Dr. Culver leapt over the professor's body only to be grabbed by the ankle. Ice instantly shot through his body and then he fell to the floor. The pain he felt upon impact took all the fight out of him. Professor Qara quickly dragged him back into the room and threw him against a wall.  
  
"You fool!" the professor hollered. "You can't run! I learned that lesson years ago."  
  
Both men took a minute to recover from the struggle. Dr. Culver couldn't believe he failed. He was so close, so very close to freedom.  
  
"Yours is truly a tragic story, doctor," Professor Qara said. "If only you had been more forthcoming with me in the beginning, we could have avoided all this unpleasantness. You could have supplied me with all the information I thought I needed from Rachel. Had that happened I would have stuck with my original plan and brought a stray here instead of you. That, however, was not the case. Only after I brought you here did you provide the answers that I sought after."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Dr. Culver asked, bitterly.  
  
"The tape from your micro-cassette recorder contained everything I needed to know, doctor. Had that tape been brought to my attention sooner, you would still be a free man. Of course, there is nothing we can do about it now. You should have shared any and all information about Rachel with me, Dr. Culver. That was your ultimate undoing."  
  
"Well, now you have Rachel all to yourself, professor," Dr. Culver said.  
  
"I have not seen Rachel since we three last had a session. After I listened to your tape there was no need for me to."  
  
"What is it exactly that you want from me, Professor Qara?"  
  
"It is almost time, Dr. Culver. In less than an hour we shall know the truth."  
  
"The truth about what?"  
  
"You will see," Professor Qara said, nodding. "In the meantime, there is something that I want to share with you, something I hope you will find inspirational. It is a tale from my youth, from my native land of Mongolia."  
  
"Mongolia? I thought you were Japanese."  
  
"I know you did, doctor. For all intents and purposes, in spirit I am Japanese. After all, I spent most of my life in Japan. I know their culture better than my own. I consider it my true home, especially its seas. Biologically though, I am Mongolian. The name is a dead giveaway: Qara Tolui Borjigid. You won't find any Japanese named that. Anyway, in Mongolia there is a city named Ulaanbaatar and in this city exists Sansar. Sansar, which means cosmos in your tongue, is a hill in the eastern part of Ulaanbaatar where many East German experts used to live. It is upon this hill that I had an epiphany. As I stared down upon the city, watching the power plants blow smoke into the otherwise clear, starry sky, I came to realize the significance of the scene. We, as people, were imposing our will onto the environment. We were using it while at the same time shaping it, and doing so on such a large scale. This fascinated me. I wanted to understand not only why people as a group did this, but how. Then I wanted to know how to use that knowledge and transfer it to one person. I wanted to know how to impose my will on a scale as grand as people did in a group. And here is where I can help you, doctor. Here is what I learned. The meat of the matter is what you would call it. When the time comes you must remember that above all else there is destiny, and that you and you alone control your destiny. If you do that you will triumph in the face of fear."  
  
Dr. Culver was stunned. Where part of what the professor said made sense, the rest of it sounded like the ranting and ravings of a madman. Dr. Culver was more than happy when Professor Qara left the room. He was even happier about the fact that the professor forgot to tie him up. He would have to take advantage of that. Hopefully, Professor Qara wouldn't return for a while so he could build his strength back up. Then he would ambush him again.  
  
As time passed, Dr. Culver grew more and more anxious. He was ready. Any moment Professor Qara would walk through that door and he was ready to attack. The anticipation was nearly unbearable. Dr. Culver's nerves were on the edge. He jumped when the television suddenly blared static into the room.  
  
"Very funny," Dr. Culver said, loudly. He figured Professor Qara was having fun at his expense, figured the professor was using a remote control from the room where he was watching him.  
  
The static stopped and Dr. Culver turned his attention back to the television. It was showing the shot of the well from the videotape that the professor made him watch.  
  
"I've already seen this once. How many times do I have to watch it," he hollered. "Whoa. I haven't seen that though."  
  
Dr. Culver watched as Samara climbed out of the well. The television image went screwy for a moment and then righted itself. Samara was now out of the well and making her way to the screen. Fear grew within Dr. Culver. He didn't understand why. It's just a videotape, he told himself. The screen went screwy again and suddenly Samara was right on the edge of the screen. Dr. Culver screamed as Samara's head blerped out from the television. The rest of her followed. Everything Rachel told Dr. Culver about Samara suddenly came rushing to his mind. It was all true, he thought to himself. It was all true.  
  
From another room, Professor Qara watched as Samara advanced on Dr. Culver. Then he smiled when he saw her kill him. Samara then turned towards the camera.  
  
"I had to see for myself," Professor Qara said to the image of Samara. "I had to make sure you were real before proceeding any further. Now there is only one thing left for me to do and then our time will come. Yes... yes." 


	14. 

Once again the door to Rachel's room was standing wide open in the middle of the night. She saw it the moment she woke up and then immediately glanced at the floor. Just like before there was a trail of water leading out into the hallway. She got up tentatively and followed it. At the end of the hallway the trail turned right. Straight through the open gate the trail led towards the lobby. Rachel stopped at the intersection where she had passed out before. The trail didn't end here this time though. It continued on into the lobby and through the front door, which was standing wide open.  
  
Ever so slowly Rachel walked into the lobby. She looked over at the doorway where Samara had entered into the lobby last time. There was nothing there now. Rachel then quickly looked over at the large mirror that Samara had stood in front of. Again, there was nothing. She turned her attention to the front door. It was less than twenty feet away from her now. Rachel quickly turned back to the mirror. Something had moved out of the corner of her eye, but there was still nothing there, nothing except her own reflection staring back at her. She quickly regained her composure and ran out of the building.   
  
It was pouring down rain outside but Rachel didn't care. She was free. At long last, she was free. She couldn't believe it. She started laughing and dancing. For that brief moment she forgot about all the tragic events of the past year.  
  
"He's here," the voice whispered in Rachel's left ear.  
  
Rachel turned in the direction of the voice and saw a tall, dark figure making its way slowly toward her. A piercing screech ripped through Rachel's brain. With each thunderous footstep the tall, dark figure advanced ever closer. Rachel was afraid to look. She was afraid that once the figure got close enough, she would see the dead, rotting face of Richard Morgan. It was the last thought she had before losing consciousness. 


	15. 

Day 1:  
  
The moment she came to, Rachel knew she was no longer in the mental institution. Antique furniture decorated the room she was in. There was a vanity with a large mirror attached to it, a high-backed chair set in front of the vanity, a small, rectangular table with two matching chairs, and a large wardrobe. Red velvet wallpaper with an intricate gold pattern stamped into it covered the four walls and the floor was highly polished wood. All in all it was a very nice room. The only thing Rachel found wrong with it was that there was no window.  
  
Rachel got up and checked the only door to the room. It was locked, of course. Then she went to the vanity and opened its drawers. It was filled with assorted cosmetics and hygienic accessories. She then wandered over to the wardrobe and found that it contained her old clothes.  
  
"I thought you would appreciate having your own clothes to wear," a voice from behind said.  
  
Startled, Rachel whipped around to find Professor Qara standing in the doorway.   
  
"I apologize, I did not mean to scare you," the professor said.  
  
"Where am I? What am I doing here?" Rachel asked.  
  
"You are here because I believe we can help each other," Professor Qara said. "I assure you, Rachel, I mean you no harm. If you would please have a seat then I will explain everything."  
  
Reluctantly, Rachel sat at the table. Professor Qara followed suit.   
  
"First things first," the professor said. "What were you doing outside the institution? How did you get there?"  
  
Rachel didn't like Professor Qara or the situation she found herself in. She felt that his questions were prying and didn't want to answer them. However, it was obvious that he had the upper hand. She had no idea where she was or what he had planned for her. Ultimately, she decided it was best to cooperate with the professor, for the time being anyway. So she went ahead and told Professor Qara about Samara's water trail and how it led her out of the institution. It didn't matter anyway. She knew the professor wasn't going to believe a word of it.  
  
"Interesting," he said when she was done. "Very interesting. I feel that I need to clear the air between us before we can proceed any further. I know Samara is real, Rachel. I know that everything you have ever said about her is true. And I know why she frequently visits you."  
  
At these words, relief washed over Rachel. Finally someone believed her. She still didn't trust the professor but maybe he could really help her. "Why does she come to me?" she asked.   
  
"In due time, Rachel. There are other more pressing issues at hand that must be dealt with. Issues that I need your help with. That is why I brought you here."  
  
"What issues?"  
  
"Earlier this morning I watched the Cursed Video, the copy you made of Samara's tape. I now have a week before she comes for me"  
  
"You watched the tape? You just told me that you believed everything I ever said about Samara. So why did you watch the tape if you knew you would die in a week?"  
  
"Because I have done it before and survived."  
  
"Samara let you live?"  
  
"Not exactly, Rachel. Samara is not as unique as you think. There is another like Samara. Her name is Yamamura Sadako. She is Japanese, and like Samara, she has a Cursed Video. A few years ago I watched Sadako's Cursed Video and on the seventh day after I watched it she came for me. I did not die though. Instead she let me live and a psychic link was formed between us. Not very much unlike the one that you and Samara share."  
  
"There is another one?" Rachel's mind reeled. Samara was an abomination. How could there be another like her?  
  
"It is difficult to accept, I know," Professor Qara said. "I will give you time to digest what I have just told you."  
  
When the professor left, Rachel began aimlessly pacing around the room. She stopped when her eyes landed on the large mirror of the vanity. It reminded her of the night she saw Samara standing in front of the lobby mirror. Had she been talking to her own reflection or was that Sadako? Rachel took a sheet from the bed and covered the vanity mirror's face.  
  
Day 2:  
  
In life, Sadako and Samara were as different as any other two people. It was in death and the events that followed where many uncanny parallels were found. Both had been betrayed by one of their parents and then thrown down a well to die. Both had spent their last days alive within that dark well trying desperately to climb its stony walls in a vain attempt at escape. Rachel could deal with these similarities. They weren't anything very significant in her mind. It was what followed that she had a difficult time grasping. First came the Cursed Videos. Professor Qara explained how Sadako's was created. How she psychically projected the images from within the well to the videotape. Rachel figured this same principle probably applied to Samara. After all, Rachel had discovered the videotape at the same place where Samara's well was hidden. Professor Qara then told Rachel about Sadako's first victims, and Rachel found this most disturbing of all. Just as with Samara, Sadako's reign of terror began with four teenagers. Then Sadako's video fell into the hands of a Japanese reporter, Asakawa Reiko. Rachel felt her world begin to crumble beneath her feet as Professor Qara told her the story of Asakawa and the finding of Sadako's well. Asakawa's story sounded almost exactly like Rachel's. There were simply too many parallels for Rachel to pass off as coincidence. So when Professor Qara began to tell of events in Asakawa's story that Rachel didn't recognize in her own story, she became fearful. Is this what my future holds, she thought to herself? Was Professor Qara now telling her of events which would soon transpire in her own life? Rachel couldn't listen to another second of it.  
  
"Stop!" she demanded and Professor Qara fell silent. "How do you know all this?"  
  
"Some of it I know from research I have done. The rest of it, Sadako shared with me."  
  
"She tells you things?"  
  
"No. She shows me, in visions."  
  
"Yes," Rachel nodded, knowingly. "Samara does the same thing to me."  
  
"They are both very powerful beings, Rachel. What Samara did to Richard Morgan is a prime example of just how powerful and influential they can be."  
  
"What did she do?"  
  
"You were there, Rachel. You saw it with your own eyes."  
  
"Are you referring to Richard Morgan's suicide?"  
  
"Suicide?" Professor Qara said and then laughed. "Richard Morgan did not commit suicide. I thought that would have been obvious to you. Richard Morgan was a simple man. If he were to commit suicide I assure you it wouldn't have been that elaborate. Not to mention all the telltale signs of Samara's involvement in his death: the tub full of water like a well, the horse bit in his mouth, electrodes covering his body, and, of course, the use of electricity as the means of death. No, Rachel, it was not suicide. Samara killed him, and in the process of doing so, she made him suffer as she felt he made her suffer. All the years she spent in therapy where she regularly received electroshock treatment, all the nights she spent alone in the barn with restless horses, Samara blamed him for all of it. So when the time came to exact her revenge, Samara wanted to let him know how she felt about it all."  
  
"She made Richard Morgan kill himself? What about Anna, her mother? Did Samara kill her too?"  
  
"No, I don't think so," Professor Qara said, assuredly. "I believe that Anna Morgan's suicide was genuine. Samara was in Anna's head, even after Samara's death. Samara enjoyed tormenting her. That much is evident. Anna Morgan simply couldn't take it anymore. She felt that death was the only way out."  
  
"So she jumped off that cliff to escape from Samara?"  
  
"Yes. She knew Samara would never leave her alone. She was Samara's favorite toy, so to speak. I am sure Samara tried to stop Anna from jumping, and it probably took every ounce of Anna's strength to fight off Samara's influence over her. Ultimately, Anna succeeded in finding the freedom from Samara she so desperately desired. However, in doing so I believe she now suffers a fate far worse: to forever repeat her suicide, over and over, until the end of time."  
  
A shiver ran down Rachel's spine as she thought about what it would be like to relive one's own death for all eternity. "And what about Richard Morgan?" she asked after a long pause.  
  
"What about him?"  
  
"If Samara killed him then why did she wait so long to do it?"  
  
A smile came to Professor Qara's face. "Because of you, Rachel," he then said.  
  
"Me? What did I do?"  
  
"It is not what you did. It is what you were going to do. Samara needed to establish a connection. For that she needed Richard Morgan. She knew you would go looking to him for answers. She knew that you would find the tape of her from the institution. She knew you would blame him as she did, and that was the connection. Once that happened she no longer needed him, and, as you witnessed, she wasted no time in exacting her revenge upon him."  
  
"Connection?" Rachel said, her voice trembling. "What connection?"  
  
"You have been chosen, Rachel, just as I was. Sadako chose me as their father and Samara chose you as their mother. I find it most interesting that each chose the parent that led to their demise. Even though I don't think they view it that way. I get the impression they feel that in death they found life, eternal life."  
  
"What the hell are you talking about?"  
  
"I am talking about you, me, and our two daughters: Sadako and Samara."  
  
"They are not my daughters," Rachel said, disgustedly.  
  
"Why, because you did not give physical birth to them? Do really think that matters? You have seen only a fraction of what they are capable of. I will let you in on a little secret, Rachel. They are not just inside your head. They are now a part of your whole being. Their DNA has been mixed with yours, just as it has been with mine. Like I said, Rachel, you were chosen. You are their mother. I am their father. And we are a family."  
  
  
  
Day 3:  
  
"He's coming," Samara said and then pointed to the door.  
  
"Who is it, Samara? Who's coming?" Rachel asked.  
  
"Daddy," she answered with a smile.  
  
Professor Qara flung the door to Rachel's room open and threw several pictures on the table.  
  
"Explain these," he demanded.  
  
With caution, Rachel got up from bed and approached the table. She gasped when she looked at the pictures.  
  
"What are these pictures of?" she asked, quickly looking away from them.  
  
"They are pictures of me," Professor Qara said.  
  
"Why are they so messed up?"  
  
"You tell me. That is why you are here, to help me. You have been through this before."  
  
"Yes, I have, but I never looked like that in any of the pictures that were taken of me. I mean, they were warped and blurry but nothing like that, nothing that extreme."  
  
She glanced back down at the pictures on the table. Each one showed a fleshy blob that was warped and mangled beyond recognition. None of them looked even remotely like a person. An unadulterated eye in one of the pictures was the only semblance of anything human from the whole lot.  
  
"What do you think it means?" Professor Qara asked.  
  
"I don't know," Rachel said, perplexed.  
  
"Well, think!" the professor demanded, slamming his fist on the table.  
  
"I don't know," she cried. "I told you, it wasn't like this with me. It wasn't like this with anyone I knew who saw Samara's tape."  
  
"It wasn't like this when I saw Sadako's tape either."  
  
"That's it," Rachel exclaimed. "You've seen both tapes, Sadako's and now Samara's. Maybe this is what happens when you've seen both. Maybe the effect from watching both of them creates that." She pointed at the pictures.  
  
Professor Qara stared at the disfigured images of himself on the table and nodded his head. Yes... yes, he thought to himself. That must be it. He was displeased with himself for not coming to that conclusion on his own. It made him feel inferior.  
  
"Very well," he said and stormed out of the room. Once the door was closed behind him, Professor Qara took a deep breath in an effort to regain his composure. He needed solitude, a place for him to gather his thoughts and regain his confidence. He missed the desert. He longed for its vast, desolate landscape. That is what he truly needed. Here, in the city, even when he was alone, he could feel the people that were close at hand. A few miles' distance was not enough escape from them. He needed miles on top of miles to break free of their worries, their fears, their pain. He needed the desert.  
  
Day 4:  
  
Rachel wrestled with her thoughts. Deep down inside her, she knew what Professor Qara had said about the DNA was true. She didn't know how she knew but she did. Hate swelled within her. DNA or not, she refused to be Samara's mother. Samara had killed her real family. Did she kill Aidan out of jealousy? Rachel wondered. The thought of her little boy brought tears to her eyes. She wished she had never gone looking for that tape.  
  
Why did Professor Qara watch Samara's tape? This question had been eating at Rachel for quite some time now. It kept popping up like an unwanted neighbor. She didn't understand why he would watch it. She found his previous answer unsatisfactory. Just because you survived once isn't a reason. You might not survive a second time. He was aware of what Samara was capable of. Was it because he wanted to meet his "daughter" in person? Rachel doubted this. She had no desire to meet Sadako. Samara was more than enough. There had to be another reason.  
  
"What happened when you met Sadako?" Rachel asked Professor Qara, searching for answers.  
  
"What do you mean?" he asked, defensively. Rachel knew she was onto something.  
  
"I mean you were vague before. You just said that she let you live. Did she say anything to you? Did she tell you to come here and look for Samara?"  
  
"No," he said, looking distressed. Professor Qara had stumbled onto the existence of Samara by accident, and this bothered him. Sadako had to have known about Samara. He felt that Sadako had intentionally concealed Samara from him, and this angered him.  
  
"She didn't say anything?" Rachel then asked.  
  
"No, nothing," Professor Qara said and then hesitated. He wondered how much he should tell Rachel. If she knew the whole truth it could be helpful when the time came, he thought to himself. "Sadako did give me something though. Actually, she gave me two things. A lock of her hair and a gift."  
  
"A gift?" Rachel asked, curiously.  
  
"Yes, a gift." Professor Qara looked down at the palms of his hands. "When she grabbed me, I thought it would kill me. It felt like death. Pain, the likes of which I had never felt before, assaulted my body. Sadako was sucking the life right out of me. I saw my life flash before my eyes at high speed and in reverse, but it did not stop there. When my life had completed its journey back to birth, my father's life flashed before my eyes in the same fashion. Then my father's father, and so on and so forth. One by one, I traveled through the generations of my lineage. I witnessed their lives from death to birth. The further I ventured back in time, the colder I became. I knew death was but a heartbeat away. Then everything stopped, and for that moment I drifted out of time and space. Nothing could touch me there. An eternity passed within that fraction of a second before I was shot back through time faster than the speed of light. Faces from the past whirled by at an alarming rate as I felt precious life being restored to my being. With a rush and a push I found myself once again in the present, sitting in my boat out at sea. Sadako stood before me. She was glowing like an angel against the black, starry sky. I reached out to grab her but found only air. She was gone when I awoke the next morning. All that was left of her was the lock of hair I found in my hand. I knew she left behind more than that though. I could feel it coursing in my veins, moving under my skin."  
  
"What was it?" Rachel asked, tentatively when Professor Qara fell silent.  
  
"A gift from Sadako. She gave me the power to control life and death with nothing more than a touch from my hand."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"When any part of my flesh comes in contact with another person's flesh I drain the life from them and it becomes a part of me, making me stronger, extending the longevity of my own life."  
  
"That's why you wear gloves all the time. That's not a gift. It's a curse!"   
  
"At first, I thought so too. Never again would I be able to enjoy the simple pleasure of a gentle caress from another person. Never again would I be able to embrace another in the act of love. It saddened me. In time though, I saw the true wondrous nature of the gift that Sadako had bestowed upon me. Imagine the possibilities, Rachel. I knew then I was destined for great things, and the loss of intimacy with my fellow man was a small sacrifice to pay for that."  
  
"That's why you want to meet Samara. You're hoping she will give you a 'gift' like Sadako did, aren't you?"  
  
Professor Qara said nothing. He just looked at Rachel with his shining silver eyes.  
  
"You're just like them," Rachel added. "You're a monster!"   
  
"A monster?" Professor Qara smiled. "And what about you, Rachel? Tell me, why did you take the copies you made of Samara's tape to the video store? Why didn't you leave a note telling the people that watched them that they had to copy it and show it to someone in seven days or they would die? That is what you believed at the time anyway, is it not?"  
  
This time Rachel remained silent.  
  
"I'll tell you why," he said. "It was because you didn't care what happened to those people. All you cared about was yourself. If others died so you could live then that was just the way it was. Isn't that right, Rachel?"   
  
"What about my son?" she hollered. "I tried to save his life!"  
  
"Only because it benefited you!" he yelled back. "During your ambitious drive for personal success, Aidan was your only justification for - shall we say - your more unsavory characteristics. With him around it was easy to forget all the people you wrongfully accused or injured in your pursuit for literary fame. You would do just about anything to get the story that would further your career. Why do you think you were chosen, Rachel? Do you think Samara chose you at random, that you are the recipient of unfortunate circumstance? No, Rachel. You were chosen because you possess characteristics reminiscent of Samara herself. You are cold, calculating, and vicious. Your lack of sympathy is only matched by your ingenuity at deception."   
  
"No, you're wrong," Rachel said, but the felt the sting of truth in Professor Qara's words. "I loved my son! I loved Aidan!"  
  
"Now you do. Now that he is gone. When he was alive, though, you only loved the concept of having a son, someone that depended on you wholeheartedly, someone that needed you. He was nothing more than a pet, to be called on only at your convenience."  
  
"YOU SON OF A BITCH! HOW DARE YOU! YOU KNOW NOTHING! NOTHING! YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT ALL THE ANSWERS BUT YOU'RE NOTHING MORE THAN A PUPPET! I'M GOING TO ENJOY WATCHING SAMARAHHHCK..."  
  
"I AM NOBODY'S PUPPET!" Professor Qara screamed, taking Rachel by the throat. "It is time, Rachel, that you learned some respect." With his teeth, the professor removed the glove from his remaining, free hand. "It is time you learned what it is you are truly against. It is time you learned who is in charge."  
  
Icy pain assaulted Rachel's body as Professor Qara grabbed her arm. His face twisted with fury, Professor Qara glared into Rachel's eyes.  
  
"Who's the puppet now, Rachel?" he asked, his nostrils flaring. "Who's the puppet now!?"  
  
Through watery eyes, Rachel watched as Professor Qara's face got more and more screwed up in rage. He had a murderous look in his penetrating stare. She was sure he was going to kill her. Suddenly blood began pouring profusely from his nose. He recoiled in fear, releasing Rachel from his death grip. The crimson fluid flowed freely from his face, spilling onto his chest. Thunderstruck, he tried to stem the tide with his hands. The blood gushed out between his fingers in streams. With an accusatory glance at Rachel, Professor Qara fled from the room.  
  
Day 5:  
  
The only time Rachel saw Professor Qara was when he brought her meals. He didn't say one word to her when did this. He just dropped off what he had for her and then left immediately. In between these rare visits, Rachel heard a cacophony of activity coming from an adjoining room. There was hammering and drilling and on a couple of occasions a loud crash of shattering glass. She had no idea what the professor was doing, but she knew she would find out soon enough.  
  
Day 6:  
  
In complete contrast to all the racket that had gone on the preceding day, this day was smothered with an uneasy silence. Rachel suspected that something was amiss. Her suspicions were further aroused by Professor Qara's arrival. He looked disheveled. Walking like he was in a trance, Professor Qara made his way to the table and took a seat. Rachel immediately noticed that he had left the door to her room open. She thought of making a dash for it but then decided against it. She had no idea what awaited her beyond that door, and furthermore - despite the danger involved - she was curious to see the professor and Samara meet.   
  
"In the beginning, there were rules," the professor began. "You had seven days to copy it and then show it to someone else or you would die." He stared straight ahead into dead space. His voice sounded distant as if it were being transmitting from another room. "It was then discovered that anyone who watched the tape developed a virus: seven parts smallpox and three parts Sadako's DNA. Then a report was found, and it too contained the virus. Shortly after that Sadako was reborn and once again took physical form. At this point Sadako revealed a plan to infest all mankind with her DNA, in essence creating the next step in human evolution."  
  
Professor Qara paused and looked over at Rachel. "When I discovered this, I retreated to the desert. Not out of fear, but because I felt it necessary to find a place of solitude where I could process all the information I was receiving. It was in the desert I found a flaw in Sadako's plan. I knew it was only a matter of time before it would fail. The sands of the dunes had spoken and Sadako lost physical form once again. She was not only sent back to the spirit world but back through time as well. Her plan gone awry, Sadako grew angry. Once again trapped within the well of her demise, Sadako plotted and schemed. She reached out with her mind and - knowing that she needed another just like her - she created Samara, her sister as well as her daughter."  
  
Again Professor Qara paused. His face, emotionless and pale, turned away from Rachel, who was at a loss for words. "Together, Sadako and Samara began their new plan. It is not unlike Sadako's original plan, but rather a revision of it. You see Sadako realized the flaw in the first one. It was too ambitious. There are other unseen forces at work and they would not allow her to evolve the entire human race, at least not so blatantly anyway. The new plan has the same objective but is far more insidious and deceptive in its execution. You see, it begins with the reality, what we now are experiencing. It is then passed on to varying participants and observers: the police, the judicial system, medical personnel, etc. Anyone who has heard even part of the reality passes it on to those around them. The people it is passed to then pass it on themselves, and so on and so forth. The reality becomes an urban legend. After all, the reality is simply too far-fetched to be real. Everyone who hears the 'urban legend' is fascinated by it. The 'urban legend' becomes immensely popular. So popular, in fact, that it is put into stories. These too become popular, and are then put into movies, television shows, etc. It spreads like wildfire, and soon millions of people have heard the story of Sadako and/or Samara."  
  
Professor Qara turned once more to Rachel, this time with a look of resolution on his face. "What they don't know, though, is that anyone who has ever heard, read, or seen anything about Sadako and/or Samara is infected. The more they know the more infected they become. They can't help it. They are driven to find out more. As I said, they are fascinated by it. Originally Sadako's virus attacked the heart. This new virus attacks the mind. Together, they discovered that the mind was a much easier target than the heart. How it is done depends on the medium. You see, the creators of the medium - whether it is writers, directors, or even actors - they are influenced by the power of Sadako and Samara. As the virus has already infected the creators, it only stands to reason that their actions are not truly theirs. It is not they who are creating, it is Sadako and Samara. In writing, the virus works through word placement, syntax, sentence structure, and other various grammatical and punctual notations. In film and television the same principle applies but the virus also uses images and sound. Because of this, they are much more powerful in delivering the virus, not to mention more popular.   
  
"All media work essentially the same way. The words, sounds, and/or images evoke emotional responses within the participant. These emotions release chemicals within the brain and throughout the body at an unnatural ratio, thus creating a chemical imbalance. This inevitably leads to the development of phobias, irrational insecurities, and self-induced paranoia. The participant begins to suffer from panic attacks, which in time become more frequent and harmful. The whole time this is going on, right from the very first contact the participant makes with any of the virus-spreading media, Sadako and Samara are constructing foreign DNA within the participant's body. This DNA attacks the participant's own DNA, slowly changing its gene structure. This biological war combined with the panic attacks ultimately leads to mental illness of varying degrees. It is at this point that the virus begins its final stage of metamorphosis on the participant's DNA. During this final stage, the participant will either be accepted or rejected by the virus. If accepted, the DNA will be successfully altered and the participant will recover from all mental illness and continue life within its new flesh. If rejected, the DNA will be caught within a constant state of metamorphosis and the participant will go insane, thus rendering them helpless as well as useless. Either way Sadako and Samara win."  
  
Day 7:  
  
With his long fingers, Professor Qara searched for the four points on the box. Finding them, he pressed all four simultaneously and the box sprang open. He pulled Sadako's lock of hair from the box and gripped it tightly. His mind wandered to the last journey he took out into the desert before coming here to America. For many days he traversed through the sweltering heat searching for answers. He had just recently discovered the possible existence of another. He did not yet know Samara by name. News of her had come to him in the form of an 'urban legend' that had made its way across the sea. His mind, so preoccupied with the thought of another, had neglected to stop him from wandering too far into the desert.  
  
The sun beat down on him mercilessly. He had not had any water for days. After climbing a large dune, he collapsed. Death was close at hand. With every ounce of strength he could muster, Professor Qara struggled back onto his feet. He gazed out at the open desert. A lone figure standing atop another dune caught his eye. Professor Qara hollered and waved at the figure. It did not respond. Sudden realization dawned on the professor. He screwed up his eyes in an effort to see the figure in more detail. As he did this, the dune the figure was standing on melted like glass. It started at the figure's feet and trickled down the dune, forming what looked like a pool in a basin. Professor Qara rushed to the pool. When he got there the figure was gone but the pool remained. He plunged both hands into the water of the pool and brought it to his lips. Instant relief swept through his body as he drank from his hands. He felt happy and energized. He repeated the process several times, each time feeling happier and more energetic. He started to laugh hysterically. Once he calmed down, Professor Qara looked into the pool and then up at the dune where he had seen the figure. He did not believe it had been a mirage. He did not believe it then and he did not believe it now.  
  
"Was that you, Sadako?" he asked the reflection of himself in the mirror. "Or was that Samara?"  
  
Professor Qara put the lock of hair back into the box and closed it. Today is the day, he thought to himself. It had been a rough week for him. Many unexpected events had taken place. During the week, his confidence had waned and his fear had grown, but now that the moment was at hand he was ready and sure of himself. He was much more prepared for Samara than he had been with Sadako. With comb in hand, he slicked back his hair away from his forehead. He then adjusted his suit and stared intently at his own reflection.  
  
"It is time," he said to Rachel after opening the door to her room.  
  
Rachel followed Professor Qara down the hallway and into an adjoining room. She was sure that this room was the source of all the noise she heard the other day. It was a circular room - Rachel suspected that it was square before Professor Qara's modifications - and it was filled with mirrors. They were big mirrors that spanned from floor to ceiling and covered every square inch of the wall. She looked around at them, dumbstruck, and then turned to Professor Qara.  
  
"With all these mirrors Samara will know that she is welcome here. They will also give her the illusion of freedom, both of which she is unaccustomed to. She has never felt welcome anywhere or had the freedom to do whatever she desired. I feel it will give me an advantage," he explained.  
  
They both fell silent and waited. Rachel didn't much like the room. Professor Qara may have felt it gave him an advantage, but she felt that it was more of a disadvantage. There was no way of knowing from which direction Samara might attack. Rachel's eyes darted from mirror to mirror. Each one reflected an infinite image. Rachel found this very disconcerting. A couple of times, she thought she saw Samara out of the corner of her eye in one of the mirrors, but when she turned to see if it was true there was nothing there. Time stood still as they waited in the center of the room for Samara's arrival. A piercing screech suddenly came to Rachel's ears and she grew frantic. Her head whipped to and fro desperately looking for Samara. Then she saw her, the figure of a little girl approaching in the mirror. Rachel then noticed that all the mirrors were marking Samara's slow approach. The screech in Rachel's ears grew louder and louder the closer Samara got. She felt like her head was about to explode. Samara then reached the edge of the mirror and walked right through it into the room. Professor Qara grabbed Rachel by the arm and flung her in front of him like a shield.   
  
"Stop!" he hollered at Samara, who was about fifteen feet away from them.  
  
She continued to advance. With a surge of power, she was instantly five feet closer.  
  
"I SAID, STOP!" He placed his bare hand inches away from Rachel's throat.  
  
Samara stopped. A thick silence hung in the air.  
  
"I know you don't want to lose another mother, Samara," Professor Qara said. "I know you still miss Anna. That is why I brought Rachel. I will do her no harm if you do me no harm. I want to help you, Samara, like when you helped me get Rachel out of the institution. Together we can achieve greatness. Together like a family."  
  
Samara just stood there, silent.  
  
"You know why I sought you out," he said "You know what I want, Samara. Don't forget, I am your father, and as such you should do my bidding, just as Sadako does. Now, come to daddy."  
  
Samara remained motionless. Fear grew within Rachel. Some new evil was approaching, she could feel it. She glanced around the room furiously and then screamed. Professor Qara turned to see what she was screaming at.  
  
"SADAKO!" he hollered and inadvertently released Rachel, who fled to the door. It was locked.  
  
Professor Qara backed away from Sadako, who was advancing on him. Her body twisted and writhed amidst the cracking of bones as she drew ever closer to him. Samara followed suit. Rachel turned away and hid her face in her hands. Screams the likes of which she had never heard filled the room. They went on and on. Horrorstruck, Rachel crumpled to the floor. The screaming stopped. Rachel was afraid to look. She curled up, making herself as small as possible, hoping to hide from Sadako and Samara. Once again a thick silence hung in the air. Rachel peeked through her fingers. Side by side, the two girls stood there facing Rachel. Professor Qara - now an unrecognizable lump on the floor - was only a few feet away from her. She looked intently at it, trying to find some semblance of humanity. Suddenly, it jerked and exhaled a deep, rattling breath. Oh my God! He's still alive! Rachel's thoughts screamed. Sadako raised her hand and the disfigured form of Professor Qara rose from the ground awkwardly as if it was being forced to.   
  
"He wanted to play," Samara said, sweetly. "Didn't you, daddy?"  
  
Gurgling gasps issued forth from the professor's partially exposed esophagus. Rachel threw up at the sight of it.   
  
"You will be our mommy, won't you?" Samara asked.  
  
"Yes," Rachel said, trying to catch her breath. She dared not say no. She understood what had just happened. They didn't kill Professor Qara because he was their father but he had to be taught a lesson. He thought he could control them. He thought he could be in charge. They wanted to show him the error of his ways. Rachel knew they would keep him alive as long as they could. After all, he was their daddy. She didn't want the same thing to happen to her.  
  
Rachel then saw the perfection of their plan. The girls had chosen their parents wisely: she and Professor Qara were cowards. They would never have the strength of Anna Morgan, who had escaped Samara but was now doomed to repeat her suicide for all eternity. Rachel and Professor Qara could never bring themselves to do that, not even to escape the tyranny of Sadako and Samara. The four of them would be bound to each other forever.  
  
"Yes," Rachel repeated. "I'll be your mommy." She knew she would never be free of them. 


End file.
